


Pretty Good

by WhumpTown



Series: Bruce Wayne Being a Good Dad (Bonus Whump) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne Angst, Bruce Wayne Whump, Bruce Wayne doesnt think he's a good parent, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, but he's decent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Series: Bruce Wayne Being a Good Dad (Bonus Whump) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578085
Comments: 2
Kudos: 165





	Pretty Good

_“Dad, you won't fucking believe this shit.”_

_Bruce startles awake and finds the only thing more alarming than the fact that he was just taking a nap is that Jason is sitting across from him. The boy keeps talking, having flipped a chair around just so he can sit backward in it. His hair is in complete disarray and Bruce’s eyes immediately go to catalog bruises. Surprisingly, there are none visible. Even more startling, Jason doesn’t hold his body stiff or as if he were hiding an injury. The boy is, for once, in good health._

_“Are you listening?” Jason’s body language suddenly turns hostile. Visibly upset with the idea that Bruce may have ignored all the valuable gossip he’d just taken the time to tell him. He stands, insecure now and hating Bruce for making him feel that way. “Just, never mind. Forget I-”_

_Bruce scrambles to pull his head from the clouds. He throws his hand out,``Wait! Jason I-”_

_“Nah,” Jason throws a hand over his shoulder, to motion that it doesn’t matter. “It’s cool, B. I shouldn’t have come here. You were relaxing and I-”_

_Bruce springs to his feet, closing the steps Jason has taken in two large strides. He puts a heavy hand on Jason's shoulder, grounding his child. "My mind wandered a little, J-bird." The nickname comes out softer than the rest of his tone. His voice lowering, " I was a little distracted. Perhaps-Perhaps we can try again?"_

_Jason's lips are in a tight frown but he can't deny he wants his father to listen. It's stupid, Jason decides, but he wants it so bad. To be like the others. He wants Dick's freedom to walk into the manor like he still lives here. To integrate into Bruce's life even if he is an adult. Or Tim and Damien or Duke or Barbara or Cass…_

_He wants Bruce to love him again._

_"Yeah, " Jason rolls his shoulder, letting Bruce's hand drop off his shoulder. "Okay."_

_Bruce smiles, " okay. I'll make some lunch?"_

_Jason nods to that. If there's one thing Bruce can do better than anyone else, it makes a killer turkey sandwich._

"Master Bruce?" Alfred leans over him, adjusting tubes and the line to the IV. "It's good to see you awake." Alfred moves the head of the bed, shooting fire through his nerves. "Would you like to try and eat?" 

The butler already knows the answer and sighs in discontent. "Very well, " he says and Bruce is more than aware that Alfred's fingers are a little too rough as he adjusts his bandages. 

_Bruce knows his children hate the galas he forces them to attend. They each make sure he knows. He gets reminders months in advance. They, mostly, just act out but Cass and Jason usually just tell him how mad they are. Both in their own unique ways._

_"Father?" Mostly, they seem to be behaving. Sure, Jason told the mayor that the streets need to be redone because of the 'fucking suck'. Dick may have shown up twenty minutes late and Tim matched dirty red converse to his red tie but that's pretty good all things considered._

_While his brothers took to entertaining the crowd, Damien found his seat upon his father's shoulders. Having promised to do nothing awful, meaning he wasn't allowed to swing from the chandelier, he found the next highest place. He rather liked watching but hated the talking. This allowed for his Father to be social and Damien to watch, it was rather perfect._

_The soft hum under Bruce's breath Damien knows is for him. "I-" Dick had been helping him express his thoughts. Teaching him to say the things he feels but so far, Damien had only done it with Dick. "I rather enjoy this."_

_Dick sees the exchange from across the room. He hides a smile behind a glass of champagne. He reads their lips._

_Bruce reaches up and squeezes Damien's leg, returning his son's soft declaration with 'as do I'._

_The pair look rather odd, Dick notes. Damien's long legs over Bruce's chest. The best part? Damien rests his head atop his father's. Comically, it pushes the sides of Bruce's peppered hair up and the hair sticks up like the cowl's ears. It's still adorable, their proximity._

_"Cassandra?"_

_Before the gala, Bruce had zipped up his daughter's dress so he knew she was wearing a nice, simple dress. Simple but it looked stunning on her and he was proud that at least she put some effort into not making his gala miserable for him._

_"Cold, " is her simple explanation. As if that truly explains why she's wearing his overcoat. Which fits him nicely and if it were on either of the older boys it would also fit them fairly well. On Cassandra's thin, short frame… she's swimming in the fabric._

_Rather than astutely make her aware he just nods. He doesn't need the jacket and who is he to tell her what to wear? Especially, when he's got a ten-year-old on his shoulders. He's proud, though. Even if he doesn't say it._

_They're all listening but that's hardly what matters. Damian is lazily kicking his feet, his head sleepily laying atop Bruce's. Jason and Dick are laughing in a corner, sharing a glass of something Bruce knows is way stronger than champagne. Tim is laying on the couch dramatically, red converse kicked up on the couch. He's sitting with Cassandra, both of them wrapped up in Bruce's overcoat._

_He'd seen the others briefly throughout the night. Duke… well, he hadn't seen Duke in a while so there's a good chance he's hiding (probably under the coat Tim and Cassandra are using as a blanket). Which he can't blame the boy for._

_"Bruce?"_

"Master Bruce, " Alfred's voice is softer now. Not taunting, nor demeaning. Just soft and sad. “They would come if they knew,” Alfred informs him, hooking the IV to yet another bag of foggy numbness. His head is still a little too scrambled to be straining it like he has been. Allowing the drugs to let him wallow in old memories.

Before he messed it all up with his children. Before he secluded himself off in a giant mansion devoid of their laughter. No screams in the hall as Jason chases one of his brothers with a gun. No threats to take down all the chandeliers if Dick doesn’t stop teaching his sibling’s to hang from them. No Cass over his shoulder or Damien trying to kill someone. They’re all gone.

“Father.”

Bruce turns his head to the door. It’s impossible to measure time. The alarm clock is too far behind his head and he can’t move his shoulders from the bed. What he does know is that the bag hanging above his head is nearly empty now, which means roughly three hours has passed. 

“Dad!”

Damien’s little shadow is joined by Dick’s much larger one. His youngest’s face pinches in obvious distaste at his brother’s proximity but Dick doesn’t seem to care. He smiles eagerly at Bruce as if he doesn’t see anything besides his father and a giant fluffy bed. Not the heart monitor or the bruises beat up and down his mostly uncovered body.

“Hello, Father,” Damien takes the first steps in. He looks around the room and sighs,” Alfred is under the assumption you’re having a depressive episode. It seems he was corr-”

Dick slaps a hand over Damien’s mouth,” what little D means to say is: Al told us you got hurt and we’re here to take care of you!!" Dick throws a hand out, a bag in his hand full of… something.

Damien, once Dick releases him, walks across the room and right up to the side of the bed. He looks over his father, eyes calculating. Bruce can feel their intensity. He wishes he had been a better father, someone his children could depend on not look after. Yet, here he is. Laid up again over his stupid back. It’s not broken and he supposes that's all the favors he’ll be granted in his life. 

“Hey, Bruce.” Unlike Dike and Damien, Barbara’s entrance is soft. He’s not aware of her presence until she says his name, her hand already atop his. Her eyes are soft, as they should be he thinks. Damien was forced to grow old too young and Bruce has never truly stopped that process. Barbara is right, youthful even in the horrid glow of the bedside lamp. “You look awful.”

Bruce’s face cracks, old muscles being forced into positions he’s forced himself to withhold. He smiles, a little loopy but happy, deep down, that his room is filling with kids. His kids. “T-Thank you,” but once the corners of his mouth lift up he can’t bring them back down. He grins at her and she grins back.

Barbara moves away from the bed, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s cheek before she joins Damien at the bottom of the bed. She talks softly to him, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. He’s so into whatever he’s telling her he doesn’t even grow angry with the physical affection.

Alfred and Dick are standing in the hall. Their words are hushed but Dick’s grow louder with the heat he brings to whatever they’re talking about. They’re talking about him.

When they break apart, Alfred gets the last word. Dick sighs in defeat and comes into the room, stomping rather childishly until he sees Bruce has watched their entire exchange. Then he presses a thin smile on his face. “Hey, Dad,” he comes around the side of the bed. Not the side Bruce is on but rather where the equipment is. “I’m playing Nurse Ratchet if that’s okay with you.” 

Damien and Barbara both turn to watch.

“ ‘s okay with me,” Bruce mumbles, already blinking away pain as Dick moves the bed. “If ‘s okay with Alfred.”

Dick scoffs at that, rolling his eyes. He sets to work and he, almost always, looks sad when Bruce grunts out in pain. “Ew,” Dick comments peeling back one of the bandages and he follows it with a sigh. The wound is still bleeding. “Do you get banged up like this all the time?”

Bruce is such an unfit father he lets his ten-year-old patrol with Dick instead of him. Which means that Bruce is completely alone. Baraba works mostly with Dick and Cass. Tim does a lot more research than patrol and when he does patrol he likes straying off to bother Jason. Duke doesn’t like being with Bruce. 

“Not always,” Bruce manages between gasps. He can feel himself slipping back under the foggy medicine’s grip. Bruce can feel the guilt he causes them and he curses his own stupid mouth. The medicines are making it nearly impossible to say the words he means. 

Dick looks to Baraba, they share a look of silent agreement to look after Bruce. It’s only fair, with how often he looked after them. How many times was it their blood running down his suit? How many times had they woken in his arms, being carried from wherever they fell asleep to their bed? Never mind he missed a few school things or sometimes was a little too short-tempered. He taught them, loved them, and unlike their parents… he never left.

But they left. 

They all left him.

Dick smiles fondly down at his father, asleep again under the influence of merciful painkillers. He can remember the time kids made fun of him at school. His body always too long, too lanky, and his hair a little too long. They called him a _fag_ and Bruce’s cheeks burned red with anger when Dick told him that later. That night, Batman and Robin didn’t go kick ass. Instead, Bruce found Dick curled up in his sheets. 

Dick can still feel Bruce’s strong chest, the deep rumble of his father’s voice. _“Come here, son.”_ Despite all the muscle, Bruce was always the best pillow. Dick rolled himself into a tight ball and slept right there on his chest. Breathing in each time Bruce did until he fell asleep. The next day, he punched Travis Good in the nose and no one ever called him another bad name again.

“Hey, daddio!” Jason comes stumbling into the room. His face goes from humorous to very flat as his brain reels with the sight of Bruce. He swallows thickly and it’s all replaced by a face-splitting grin as if he remains unphased. “Well, I brought pizza.”

Damien is right by Jason’s side as he unboxes the slices, handing them around. Even if that means he’s standing on his toes to see. “Stupid, incel,” Damien bites,” is this only cheese?”

Jason smacks Damien atop his head. He shuffles the boxes,” no, shit stain.” From there he pulls out Damien’s favorite out,” here.” 

The little asshole makes a joyful sound and takes his box. 

Jason shakes his head. To no one in particular ( _to his unconscious father_ ), Jason mumbles,” I better be reimbursed for this damn pizza.” His eyes wander to Bruce but immediately snap away. 

“Please don’t get pizza anywhere but your mouth?” Dick sounds like their father in that single exasperated moment, eyes a little too tired and voice too strained. He sinks back down to where Barbara is, leaning against her as she whispers something softly to him.

“Epic.” Cass appears at the doorway and Tim right behind her.

Tim smiles,” we brought Epic!” He raises a silver platter,“ and cookies!”

Bruce wakes up halfway through the movie. His back is killing him but there’s a familiar weight on his shoulder. Damien’s head, a tangle of thick black hair, rest on his shoulder. The boy snores softly, his hands tucked between their bodies. He’s not the only one sleeping through the movie. Dick and Tim meeting a similar ending to the afternoon. 

Barbara’s hand is lost in the thick dark mass of Dick’s hair. His head in her lap as he lays across the chair he’d pulled up tp her side. She plays with her hair even now as he sleeps, her eyes on the movie before them.

Tim is leaning against Jason. A box of pizza is on their lap. Jason’s head bounces as he fights his own sleep.

“Awake.” Cass, always by his side. She cocks her head to the side, watching him with shining eyes. The light from the hall basks her in a soft yellow and he can see the Gotham University sweatshirt she’s wearing. His Gotham Uni sweatshirt.

“Hello, Cassandra.” His voice is dry, thick from disuse but Cass smiles down at him.

“Hurt.” He hums in agreeance and Cass uncurls her long legs out from underneath her. She checks the equipment around him before sitting back down. She shakes her head and he understands she means that she can’t help him. “Sorry.”

Allowing himself to get close to Cass was the hardest. She understands him better than the others. While it took Dick years to decipher grunts and hums meanings, Cass could simply look at him and understand. And he understood her.

“It’s not your fault, Cass.” He closes the small space between their hands and gives her a small squeeze. Offering a small smile too.

She smiles back too and presses the letter S into his hand. That was his favorite part about her. She required no words to make him feel understood. Simple sign language, an S to his palm and he knew. He knew that S meant safe. 

He smiles and signs back yes before pressing an S into her palm.

“B, you’re awake.” Tim stands up onto his chair, stepping over it on to the bed. He’s not very careful, too tired to be too careful with his movements. He sits down beside Bruce with a sleepy smile. He curls up at Bruce’s feet, yawning and closing his eyes. “ ‘s good.”

Bruce agrees. He’s got a room full of crime fighters around him. Two little ex-assassins at his side. One snoring adorably and the other swimming in his sweatshirt. He’s got Dick and Barbara here to usher them all out in the morning. Jason who will be here in the morning to moan and groan about Dick making him come to the manor. And merciful Tim who might sneak him a cup of coffee. 

That sounds pretty good to him.


End file.
